


A Most Gentle Death

by mokuyoubi



Series: Sarlat-la-Canéda [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Hannibal, Bottom Will, Consensual Somnophilia, Drug-Induced Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Top Hannibal, Top Will, Unconscious Sex, Unconsciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 15:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5054371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What is that?” Will asks tightly.<br/>“A blend of benzodiazepines and barbiturates,” Hannibal says. “It will render one unconscious, immobile, and largely insensate.”<br/>Will stares at the syringe in shocked disbelief. The shame and embarrassment are still present, but have taken a backseat to dry-mouthed, hopeless longing. Hannibal turns the syringe end on end between his fingers. “Would you like me to administer it to myself?” he asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I debated whether or not to include this first part, and the feedback I got from others was pretty equally split between the "keep it" and "toss it" camps. I almost decided to toss it altogether, but was convinced that it helps really establish Will's mindset later in the fic. You can, however, read the second part without needing to read this one, so proceed with caution.
> 
> This part includes thoughts of non-consensual somnophilia (though they aren't acted upon) and might be a rape trigger, particularly for assumed consent leading to situations of unwitting, but nonetheless attempted marital rape.
> 
> It also includes all instances of Will/OFC and Will/Molly. If you proceed to chapter two, there is only Hannibal/Will, and only consensual sexual acts.

The first time Will feels it is in college. This girl, Laura, he’s hung out with a few times drags him to a frat party and proceeds to get shit-faced on cheap beer. Will hangs out in the backyard and considers just leaving, but his empathy won’t let him. All he can think about is what might happen to her if he leaves her. 

They make their way back to her dorm in the wee hours of the morning. She’s all but passed out against his side, stumbling wildly on her heels, head lolling on her neck, but she’s touching him all over and talking about how wet she is and how she can’t wait for him to fuck her.

Will hauls her up three flights of stairs and fumbles the door open with his dick hard enough to hammer nails. The roommate is out, thank fuck, and Laura giggles when she gets caught in her shirt as she tugs it off, falls flat on her ass and giggles some more. Will helps her up, unwinds her hair from the tangled sleeves and tries to ignore the way she tastes like cigarettes and sour hops when they kiss.

Laura passes out about ten minutes into things, when Will’s down to his boxers and they’re grinding against each other. Her movements become slower and softer, and her hand falls from around his shoulder, limp across her chest, and no amount of gentle prodding or calling her name makes her eyes open again.

And Will, well, he’s horny as hell, but he’s not a fucking rapist. But looking at her, all soft and pliable and unawares makes his cock swell harder. He’s so fucking disgusted with himself, that stumbles back to his dorm and showers in freezing cold water, refusing to even jerk off, because all he can think about is what it would have been like, fucking her like that.

It’s not something Will ever lets himself think about, let alone indulge in, with the girlfriends that follow. His relationships rarely make it past a couple of dates, and even those that make it to a month or two aren’t the sort where he’s felt comfortable divulging his deepest secrets.

*

With Molly, Will thinks _maybe_. She’s not shy about how much she enjoys sex and telling Will exactly what she wants. He still can’t bring himself to say the words, but they’ll lie curled together, Molly asleep in his arms, and it’s all he can think about. Eventually he gives in, lets his hands slip between the tight press of her thighs, beneath her underwear. He runs his finger through her curls, gently parts her lips, traces lightly over her clit until her breathing picks up and he can feel her getting slick.

But when he presses a single finger inside, she grabs his wrist and moans sleepily, “I’m tired, babe. In the morning.”

Two more times he tries with pretty much the same results, and then the next time she sits upright in bed, untangling them, and turns on the lamp on her nightstand. She stares at him, arms folded over her chest and says, “Is this something we need to talk about, Will?”

Will is flushed with shame and sick to his stomach. “I’m--”

“Because this isn’t okay,” Molly continues, heedless. “You can’t just...use my body when I’m asleep.”

“It--I won’t,” Will says, fervently. He shakes his head in desperation, terrified that this will be the moment when she finally sees what he’s kept locked away so carefully. She’ll see it, and she run as far as she can as fast as she can, and he’ll have nothing to distract him from his thoughts of Hannibal. “I’m sorry, Molly. I’m so sorry--I won’t do it again, I didn’t think--”

“Fine.” Molly’s voice is terse, her eyes lined in red. He hates the uncertain line of her mouth, what it might mean. “Am I…” She stops then, and her whole face softens. “Are you unsatisfied? Am I not giving you--”

“No!” Will says, too quickly, taking her hand in both of his. “I was just horny and I wasn’t thinking…”

Molly gives him a faint, sad shadow of her normal blinding smile. “Well, just tell me, okay? Just wake me up if you want it that bad, Jesus.” She laughs then, squeezes his hand. “I mean, I’m not promising anything, but you can ask, anyway.”

Will makes himself laugh in return, and that’s that. Sometimes, he finds himself wondering, _what if_? He could tell her. Explain what it is he desires. She’s learned to live with so many of his other quirks, she might not mind...she might even allow it.

Long ago he came to terms with how fucked up he is. He knows his brain doesn’t work like other people’s in how he experiences things, and he’s lucky to have found dear Molly, who loves and accepts him anyway. The longing never outweighs his fear of losing her.

Maybe she would have allowed it, but he never spoke the words to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

He and Hannibal don’t have any real boundaries. Those rather fell by the wayside in the face of what they’d done together and the sacrifices each has made. Will may have never even thought about letting another man fuck him, but with Hannibal, it didn’t require any consideration. It was just another aspect of who they were, just another expression of intimacy.

Hannibal never tries to stop Will when he makes advances. After the time they’ve spent apart, Hannibal can’t seem to get enough, even when Will wakes him with two slick fingers up his ass, or by sucking his cock, or rubbing his dick between Hannibal’s warm thighs. Hannibal will groan thickly and come to life, clenching the sheets and arching his back when Will finally pushes his way inside, or leaving bruises from the force of his grip on Will’s hips when Will straddles him and sinks down on his cock.

After the first several times it happens, Hannibal intuits there’s more to it than he’d realised. He’ll lie still as Will fingers him, breath even and deep, heart beating slowly. Hannibal maintains the illusion as long as he can, but Will knows better.

Hannibal is, by necessity, a light sleeper. Even with his superhuman self-control, he can’t stop the little twitches of the muscles in his ass and thighs as the pleasure builds; the soft, breathy sounds that eventually force their way free; the way his body clenches tight around Will’s dick when he slides home.

The thing is, it’s not that big a deal. They have truly mind-blowing sex. Sex that Will never would have imagined. Hannibal tying him up and not letting him come for hours as he takes Will apart with his hands and mouth and cock. Fucking in the back of the car after dinner, too impatient to wait until they get home, or in the cloak room of the opera house during intermission.

The terrifying rush of exhilaration when he wraps his hand around Hannibal’s throat just before he comes, cutting off the air and watching Hannibal’s eyes grow dim. Finding all the ways they can use pain to bring one another pleasure, biting and cutting and tearing their ways into one another’s bodies.

And fuck, there might not be anything better than sitting on Hannibal’s face and being eaten out, shamelessly writhing on Hannibal’s tongue. Perhaps more shocking than his own pleasure at receiving is how much he enjoys reciprocating for Hannibal--the raw, honest reactions it tears from him.

No, Will has no complaints about what takes place between them in (and out) of the bedroom. Some evenings, though, Hannibal has already fallen asleep before Will comes to bed. Or Will wakes in the night for no good reason and Hannibal is right there--face slackened in sleep, skin warm, and muscles lax. All that barely restrained power simmering just beneath his skin gives way to an appealing vulnerability.

If he’s being honest, there’s more to it than that. The hot, sick pit of desperation he gets in his stomach when he thinks about it. How carefully he touches Hannibal, prolonging the inevitable awakening as long as he can. He can’t explain it--has never attempted to put it into words, and he isn’t about to do so, now.

For all the things they’ve shared with one another, all the embarrassing or horrifying secrets he’s revealed to Hannibal, first in therapy and now in this life they’ve created together, this is the one he can’t part with. This one, relatively tame in comparison, is the one he keeps held close to his chest.

It’s after dinner one evening, Hannibal finishing the dishes while Will curls up by the fireplace. Ostensibly, he’s reading, but Hannibal is playing some opera by Bellini, and the haunting, evocative music and the soprano’s soaring aria are more distracting than the operas Hannibal usually plays.

Will finds himself watching the reflection of the fire, flickering in the windowpane, beyond which the first flurries of the season are beginning to fall. Winter has set in here, in the hills outside of Sarlat. The fireplace keeps the cold at bay, and the cognac warms him from within.

Hannibal comes in from the kitchen with his shirtsleeves rolled back, arms still slightly damp from the dishwater and Will appreciates the lines of veins and muscle, golden in the firelight. He lifts his head obligingly so Hannibal can sit, before lowering his head back onto Hannibal’s thigh.

“I like this opera,” he says, finally, turning his head to sip from his tumbler. “The woman, Norma--it’s as though I can understand what she’s saying.”

Hannibal strokes his fingers through Will’s hair, his hand smelling of lavender and lemon dish soap. “It is certainly not one of Bellini’s great works,” he says, “There are few harmonies and the instrumentation is weak...but the poetry of his words and the emotions they convey are honestly beautiful. Dame Sutherland’s is among the best performances in the history of recorded opera.”

Will hides his indulgent grin and sits up, tucking himself against Hannibal’s side. It’s only then that he notices Hannibal isn’t having his own after-dinner drink, and thinking back Will realises he hadn’t had any wine with dinner, either. “Are you not drinking?”

There is a strange moment of hesitation that immediately sets off alarms in Will’s head. Before he can truly allow himself to get worked up over it, Hannibal speaks. “There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

“Oookay,” Will draws out. He arches a brow, forcing back his paranoia. He sits back against the arm of the sofa. Hannibal has to realise the reasoning behind the distance between them, but doesn’t comment on it.

“I can’t help but have noticed a certain proclivity for acting out your sexual desires on my unconscious form,” Hannibal says, as plain as that, and it completely takes Will off-guard. It’s been _weeks_ since he’s done anything like that, and Hannibal’s never shown any discomfort over it.

“I--I--” Will’s voice dies on a hoarse sound of disbelief, and he takes a long swallow of his cognac that burns all the way down. “It’s not a _thing_ ,” he finally spits out.

Hannibal gives him an amused, knowing look. “Come now,” he says. “I think we can move right past the token protestations.”

There’s a trapped, panicky sensation in Will’s chest like he might vomit. “I’ve never--I _would_ never--”

“No,” Hannibal agrees. “I doubt you could have ever truly taken advantage of another in that way, no matter how strongly you desired it. I imagine had I shown the slightest discomfort, you’d have never tried again.”

Will can’t help but think, shamefully, of how that isn’t entirely true. How long it had taken for him to get the hint from Molly, and only then when she’d confronted him with it. He wonders if this is Hannibal’s version of that same confrontation. Not in the quiet dark of the bedroom in the middle of the night, where they could just turn out the lights and roll over back to sleep and pretend it never happened. Of course Hannibal would prefer to drag it out in the open.

Hannibal catches Will’s chin in hand and tilts his head up so their eyes can meet. “And how strongly you must desire it, to react thusly.” Will closes his eyes, cheeks flushing in warmth. “I can’t imagine it’s very satisfying,” he continues, thumb sweeping across Will’s lip. “Knowing I’m aware of everything you’re doing.”

If Hannibal wants a response, he can fucking drag it out, but Will’s silence is answer enough. “Will.” There is a humorous undertone to the command in Hannibal’s voice.

They are both stubborn bastards, and Will could hold out longer, but he just wants this conversation _over_ , so he opens his eyes. His embarrassed defiance melts into confusion when he sees the syringe in Hannibal’s hand. “What is that?” he asks tightly.

“A blend of benzodiazepines and barbiturates,” Hannibal says and Will swears that his heart stops beating for a second before starting up again at triple speed. “It will render one unconscious, immobile, and largely insensate.”

Will stares at the syringe in shocked disbelief. The shame and embarrassment are still present, but have taken a backseat to dry-mouthed, hopeless longing. Hannibal turns the syringe end on end between his fingers. “Would you like me to administer it to myself?” he asks.

A strangled, desperate sound tears its way from Will’s throat at the suggestion, and he’s suddenly painfully hard--like, tingling in his balls, ready to fucking come at the slightest stimulation. His hips give a reflexive roll before he can stop himself. He gets to shaky feet, grabs the bottle of cognac and refills his tumbler, the liquor splashing over his knuckles and down the back of his hand.

With a soft swish of fabric, Hannibal is standing behind him, pressed all against his back, and Will can feel his arousal as well. He reaches around, taking ahold of Will’s wrist and bringing it to his mouth, tracing the line of cognac up the back of his hand and over his knuckle, tonguing the valley between each.

“A simple yes or no will suffice,” he murmurs, lips brushing sensitive skin with each word. “No need for dramatics or self-recrimination. If I found it contemptible, I would not have suggested it.“

“Now.” Hannibal takes Will by the shoulders and turns them face to face. “Would you like me to administer it to myself?” He glances between them, brow raised in a pointed gesture. Will’s trousers are pulled tight over his very obvious, raging hard on. Hannibal tilts his hips and sways forward, just enough to brush their groins together for a brief second.

Will bites his lip so hard he’s surprised he doesn’t draw blood. He doesn’t trust his own voice at this moment, so he just nods. He gropes around blindly for the cognac, unwilling to look away from Hannibal, but his mouth is so fucking dry it hurts.

Hannibal grabs the tumbler first and holds it just out of his reach. “Is that a yes, Will?”

“Yes,” Will says, voice raspy and broken. He swallows and it doesn’t help at all. “Yes, I’d like you to...to…”

“In that case,” Hannibal says, turning away from him. “I would recommend water instead. I’m sure you’d agree that compromising your memories and performance with alcohol wouldn’t result in the the most satisfactory experience.”

As simple as that. Will says _yes_ and Hannibal’s just going to _let_ him. And there’s a huge difference between playing along with Will’s sick fantasies and actually making himself vulnerable in this way. Allowing Will to do whatever to his body with no way of while he remains completely unaware and defenceless. He makes a small, whimpering sound at the thought and presses his palm hard against his dick.

There is an indulgent smile curling Hannibal’s lips as he takes Will by the hand and leads him into the kitchen. He pours them both a tall glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and leans back against the counter. If it weren’t for the telltale bulge in his dress slacks, Will would think Hannibal was entirely unaffected by this entire situation.

“The compound will take effect within five minutes of administering it, and will last roughly two hours,” Hannibal explains, voice perfectly clinical. “You’ll know it’s wearing off when physiological response will return. Within fifteen minutes, consciousness will return, though full muscle control and mobility may take up to an hour longer. There will be a brief period of disorientation, though my recovery time is significantly shorter than normal--once I see you and understand where I am, I will be fine.”

Will chugs his water down and goes back for a refill. His hands are shaking, and right now he’s the one who’s disoriented, can’t figure out what to do with his body, and still unable to look Hannibal in the eye, even with what he’s offering.

“Is this safe?” he asks, staring at the tile between their feet. “I mean, barbiturates can cause breathing problems and I--I don’t know how to-- It’s--it’s stupid to take that kind of risk just because I have--” He stops and lets out a long sigh, finishes on a whisper, “because I have some fucked up paraphilia.”

Hannibal takes Will’s glass and sets it aside, then draws him close. The familiar line of Hannibal’s body is of little comfort at the moment, but Will doesn’t resist when Hannibal tilts his face up and closes that last little space between them for a brief, sweet kiss.

“Will. This behaviour is not pathological,” Hannibal says. He strokes a comforting hand over Will’s cheek. “You are able to achieve orgasm without indulging this particular desire--quite frequently and enthusiastically enjoy sex without, in fact. You’ve never engaged in it non-consensually or coercively.”

“I never asked for your consent,” Will grits out. _Never asked for Molly’s_.

“It’s true, that many mistake a committed relationship for implied consent. But are you saying you’d have continued if I’d expressed my wish to stop?”

“Of course not.” Will feels sick and turned-on and too fucking hot right now. The low ceiling and close walls of the kitchen are making him claustrophobic.

“Though,” Hannibal says, “Just to be clear, you have my consent in all things, Will. Whatever you wish to do with me, you may assume you are free to do. If that changes at any point in time, I will make sure you know.”

Will wants to close his eyes, but finds he can’t break Hannibal’s frank, open gaze. “There is a great intimacy to be had from sharing our fetishes with someone who will accept and embrace them,” Hannibal says. “After all the dark urges of mine you have indulged, I feel privileged to give you this opportunity.”

“And as for safety, I have spent many years experimenting with my tolerance for a wide variety of drugs. I am familiar with what dosages are safe. There are other sedatives and depressants we can play with, in the future, if you find that you desire more or less conscious involvement on my part.”

“In the--” Will swallows again. It’s compulsive at this point. “In the future?” He can’t help the way his voice rises.

“Oh, Will.” Hannibal’s fingers sink in his hair and give a gentle squeeze. “I hope you’ll someday come to understand that there is nothing you desire, physically, sexually, emotionally, or intellectually, that I am unwilling to give you. You have no cause for shame or fear of censure. So yes, though we should wait at least two weeks between doses, we can certainly do this again.”

“I’m--” Will stares up at him, a tight, heavy pressure in his chest that feels like choking. He shakes his head. “I’m so fucking lucky.”

Hannibal laughs, a warm, rich sound. “Come on, then,” he says and gives a tug to their joined hands, leading Will through the narrow hall and up the ancient, knobbly staircase to the bedroom. It’s one big, open loft, with sloping ceilings, warm and cosy at night from the rising heat of the fireplace downstairs.

“Would you like me to undress?” Hannibal asks. “Or would you prefer to do that yourself, once I’m unconscious?”

Fucking _Christ_ , there’s no reason it should affect him this much, just hearing Hannibal speak those words. And honestly, Will has no answer for him. He’s never allowed himself to really think about this particular kink, never let himself develop any vivid fantasy for fear it would take root.

Hannibal starts on the buttons of his shirt in Will’s silence and Will nods his assent. There’s definitely a thrill at the idea of Hannibal spread out naked, as if he’s fallen asleep, secure in the knowledge that he’ll remain safe and unmolested in his own bed. Besides, though there is some appeal to the idea of undressing Hannibal, Will doesn’t really feel like wasting any time tonight trying to wrestle with the dead weight of his unconscious body to remove his clothing.

“If you’re insensate, you’ll be unable to get an erection?” Will asks.

“With this blend, yes.” Hannibal goes to the closet, his voice muffled through the door as he hangs up his clothing. Will finds he’s glued to the spot, mind racing with thoughts of what, exactly, he wants to do. “Though towards the end, my body will respond to stimulation before regaining consciousness. If that is a problem, we can account for it in the future. There are some paralytics that in fact cause quite turgid erections.”

Will shakes his head dumbly, and belatedly realises Hannibal can’t see him. “Not a problem,” he says.

Hannibal appears in the doorway of the closet, completely naked. He tips his head towards the bed and says, “Shall we?”

Will makes his legs move, carrying him across the space between them. “What do you get out of this, then,” he asks, drawing his hand along the length of Hannibal’s dick before wrapping his fingers around him and giving a tug.

“You mean besides the pleasure of knowing I’ve given you something you greatly desire?” Hannibal asks. Will loves the little catch in his voice, the way his hips rock into Will’s touch. “I’ve had some time to consider that very question. There is something powerfully arousing about the idea of putting myself at your mercy. In waking to find that my trust in you has not been misplaced. In feeling the aftereffects of our love-making without the analogous memories of the activity.”

Will has to kiss him and stop the flow of words, before he just says _fuck it_ and drags Hannibal to bed this instant, drugs be damned. Hannibal grabs him around the waist and hauls him close, hands warm even through Will’s clothing and he opens to the kiss, letting Will lick inside his mouth. He moves, smooth and confident, walking Will backwards until his legs hit the mattress and breaks the kiss.

Hannibal sits on the edge of the bed and takes the sterile alcohol wipe from the nightstand. He wipes over the crook of his elbow and removes the cap from the syringe. Will watches, enthralled, as Hannibal slides the needles into his vein and presses the plunger.

As soon as he’s put the cap back in place and set it aside, Will is on him, climbing into his lap and pushing him back against the pillows. He works a hand between them, fisting Hannibal’s cock and jerking roughly.

“You’re starting something you won’t be able to finish,” Hannibal mumbles into his kiss.

“Can’t finish right now,” Will pants, sucking kisses down over his chin and his neck. He glances up to meet Hannibal’s gaze. “Anyway, is that a problem?”

Hannibal shakes his head, and when Will continues downward, leaving a trail of kisses over his chest and along the line of his abdomen, threads his fingers in Will’s hair. “Not a problem,” he says, echoing Will’s own words. His cock is as hard as ever when Will goes down on him, but within a minute, the fingers in his hair have gone loose, and after another minute, Hannibal’s hand falls to the mattress.

Will glances up and sees Hannibal watching back through slitted, hazy eyes, his mouth open on harsh breaths. When Will draws back to lick at the head, pushing back the foreskin with his fist, Hannibal’s back arches, his hips thrusting weakly. “As much as I’m enjoying your efforts, darling,” he says, words almost indistinguishable, accent thick on his tongue, “I’d suggest you position me how you’d like, now.”

That hot, trapped feeling in his chest is back, arousal so strong his vision is white around the edges with it. He lets Hannibal’s cock slip free of his mouth and sits back on his heels. There are too many different, conflicting desires, it’s hard to pin one down. He thinks of waking in the night to piss, coming back to the wide, scarred expanse of Hannibal’s back, golden in the firelight, sheets slipping down around his waist. How Will likes to press up against him, feeling blindly with slick fingers between them.

“On your side,” he says, and he scrambles up the bed to pull the comforter and sheets down.

Hannibal is moving slowly, sluggishly, as if his muscles are weighted down. Will helps him under the covers, positions his pillow so Hannibal’s head rests comfortably. By the time they have him settled in, his eyes are closed. Will stands at the side of the bed, heart pounding so loudly it’s all he can hear in the silence of their room.

A glance at the clock says it hasn’t quite been five minutes, and he wonders if Hannibal is still conscious, just hanging on, only unable to move. Will turns out the bedside light and the overhead light, so the room is lit only by the soft glow of the fireplace from below, casting orange and black shadows across the ceiling.

Will has to leave the room, goes down to bank the fire so it won’t die in the night, pours the cognac back in the bottle--Hannibal would probably have a stroke, but Will isn’t going to toss it out--takes another long drink of cold water. No matter how much he drinks, his throat still feels desperately dry.

After a full ten minutes, from the time Hannibal dosed himself, Will goes back upstairs. Hannibal is remarkably still, in the same position Will left him, though the loosening of muscles has shifted his shoulders forward and rounded out his back. Will can’t even tell if he’s breathing until he puts a hand on Hannibal’s side and feels the gentle rise and fall.

His lips are slightly parted, and it’s such a strange thing to be caught up on, but it’s new. Even soft in sleep, Hannibal is always perfectly composed. His fine, silky hair barely even ruffles upon waking (though Will does his best to ruin in when they’re fucking).

Will reaches out without thinking and brushes his fingers over Hannibal’s lips, and when there’s no response, he does it again, with a firmer touch. He digs his thumb into Hannibal’s bottom lip and pushes his mouth open. In his pants, his dick _aches_ at the sight, the way Hannibal’s body gives only at his direction.

Shaking and fumbling, Will jerks down his zipper and tugs the button open, doesn’t even try getting his pants off yet, just pulls his dick out through the opening of his boxers and steps forward, nudging the leaking head against Hannibal’s mouth. He smears the precome over Hannibal’s lips, leaving them shining, and his gaze flicks between that and Hannibal’s closed eyes, searching.

Even as good as Hannibal is at playing along, were he conscious, he wouldn’t be able to control the slight flaring of his nostrils at the scent of Will’s arousal, so close. It isn’t that Will thought he was lying, but the full reality of the situation sets in, and Will groans and thrust his hips forward into the loose, moist opening made by Hannibal’s lips.

He can’t help the strange, illicit thrill when Hannibal doesn’t automatically part wider for him. Will has to gently pry at his mouth, which is easy enough, but then his jaw just hangs open. It takes some maneuvering to get the angle just right, holding Hannibal’s jaw in one hand and cheek in the other, before Will can finally fuck his mouth.

It’s nothing like a blow job--Hannibal’s normally clever tongue just lies there, heavy. There is no tight, gripping suction. But it’s still wet and hot, and if he thrusts downward he can brush along the velvety texture of Hannibal’s tongue, and if he applies the right pressure with his fingers, he can create the approximation of hollowed cheeks.

Within moments he’s close to coming, balls drawn tight in anticipation. The fall of Hannibal’s hair over his face, knocked loose from each thrust; the thick drool running down his chin and covering Will’s dick; the soft, undisturbed fan of his lashes against his cheek; together these details are so electrifying, he has little choice in the matter.

As much as he’d like to let go, burying himself deep and come down Hannibal’s throat, he makes himself ease off at the last moment. Fists himself, just the tip thrusting between Hannibal’s slack lips until he’s right there. Then he pulls back and he’s coming all over Hannibal’s face, thick and white across those gorgeous cheekbones and the hollow below; over his nose and between his parted lips; the corner of his eye. He doesn’t even flinch.

Somehow, they’ve never done this--Hannibal’s come all over Will, basically claiming territory as far as Will is concerned, and he hardly minds. But if Hannibal’s mouth is anywhere near Will’s cock when he comes, Hannibal is sucking him down, milking him for all he’s worth. Will finds he likes the way Hannibal looks covered in his come. It fills him with a smug sense of accomplishment.

Momentary tenderness grips him and he uses the corner of his shirt to dab away the mess from Hannibal’s eye, though he leaves the rest in place. He looks forward to Hannibal waking with it dried tight over his face with a perverse pleasure, knowing he’ll be unable to smell anything else.

Will is still hard, which isn’t exactly unheard of for him, but unusual. That first, desperate edge is gone, though, and he can take his time now. He undresses and actually bothers to put his things away for once, as a gesture of thanks towards Hannibal for this evening. He strokes himself absently, but he’s still over-sensitive, so when he finally climbs in bed, he directs his attention to Hannibal’s motionless form.

Knowing that Hannibal’s body won’t react and experiencing it firsthand for himself are two very different things. It’s so strange, rolling the hard nubs of Hannibal’s nipples between his fingers and not hearing the accompanying catch of breath as Hannibal strains into his touch. To draw his hand down Hannibal’s chest and not have the muscles jump beneath his fingers. Even these small, involuntary movements restrained. His cock is limp lying over his thigh, and no touch, light or firm, will cause it to stir.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to try, feeling Hannibal soft and heavy in his mouth and crisp chest hair under his palm. Just touching him like this and seeing his lack of response makes that delicious tension rise up in him again, throbbing desperately in his gut. He rolls his hips, rubbing his dick against Hannibal’s stomach. Still not entirely recovered, the movement sends sparks down his spine and the backs of his thighs.

Will climbs over Hannibal to his own side of the bed, leans over to his nightstand to pump lube from the bottle into his hand. It takes actual, considerable effort to shift Hannibal how he wants him. Shifting his top leg forward and using a pillow against his chest to keep him from slumping onto his stomach.

The position leaves him exposed to Will’s slick, probing fingers. At first, he’s so gentle, stroking the wrinkled opening, though of course it doesn’t loosen. When he pushes inside, first with two fingers, he stretches carefully, until he remembers what Hannibal said. About the sensations resultant from what Will does to him.

He’s more than ready to go again, that white haze around the edges of his vision back, the desperate dryness in his mouth. His hips rock restlessly as he shoves his fingers deeper and stretches more forcefully. Part of him misses the sound it would rip from Hannibal, were he conscious, but the much larger part of him is too fucking turned on by the way Hannibal’s whole body moves with the force of it, unresisting.

Just like that, he can’t wait anymore. He pulls his fingers a bit more hastily than he should and digs into Hannibal’s asscheeks, spreading him open, wide and rough as he lines himself up. Belatedly, he realises he hasn’t slicked himself in lube, but as he sinks inside, it hardly matters. Hannibal’s body yields so beautifully, moving with Will as he pushes further and further.

“Oh fuck,” Will whispers, face buried in Hannibal’s hair. His hands clench and he knows there will be little red crescent marks all over Hannibal’s ass for the next several days, but can’t make himself loosen his grip. In fact he squeezes harder, hauling Hannibal back against him as he works that last little distance between them and they’re flush.

He has to stop and concentrate on his breathing, whining against the skin at the nape of Hannibal’s neck. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh--” He gasps and works his hips in a slow grind, entirely without permission of his brain. “ _Hannibal_ , fuck, you feel so...this is so…”

When he’s certain he isn’t going to come as soon as he starts moving, Will wraps his arm over Hannibal’s waist, lets himself relax against Hannibal’s back. It’s the same position they’ve fallen asleep in dozens of times, the same position he’s woken in as well, imagining this very scenario. Only this time Hannibal’s steady heartbeat under his hand isn’t the result of careful breathing and perfect control.

This time Hannibal’s body rocks not of its own volition, but only as Will moves it and it resettles and fuck if that doesn’t kick up all sorts of mixed up, problematic, really fucking hot thoughts and sensations. He wants to take this slowly, tries to grab ahold of the lazy feeling of having just woken up, horny and happy and sleepy.

It works for a time, running his hand back and forth over Hannibal’s chest and stomach, pressing open mouthed kisses along Hannibal’s shoulder. Every rolling, shallow thrust of his hips stokes the sparks in his stomach. All he really wants right now is to take and take and take, knowing that Hannibal has no choice but to give.

Will pulls out and repositions Hannibal again. He shoves the pillows aside and rolls Hannibal onto his stomach, turns his head to rest his cheek against the bed so he can breathe easily. One of the discarded pillows gets tucked under Hannibal’s hips and Will spreads his legs open wide. He’s tempted to bury his face there, lick the raw, red skin of Hannibal’s asshole, but tells himself later. When Hannibal can appreciate it.

Instead, Will gets up on his knees and scoots close. His cock nudges along the crease of Hannibal’s ass, slides slickly between his thighs. Will dribbles more lube between them, works it in with the press of his thumb and strokes along his length. His fingers push down against his dick until the head catches on Hannibal’s opening, then he thrusts home, balls deep.

From that point, there’s no stopping it. Will just braces his hands on the bed to either side of Hannibal’s hips and starts riding him hard. Each thrust sends him further up the bed, until his head is knocking against the frame. Will sits back on his heels and drags Hannibal back down the length of the bed, brushing a tender hand over the crown of his head and placing a kiss there.

When he shoves back in, he holds on tight to Hannibal’s shoulders, keeping him in place. It gives him the leverage to jerk Hannibal back onto his cock harder and faster, until he’s close again, panting with the fucking _need_ of it. He looks between them, attention rapt as he watches his cock fucking in and out of Hannibal, over and over, almost hypnotic, until he has to look away or resign himself to coming from the sight alone.

He drapes himself over Hannibal’s back to breath his desperate moans against Hannibal’s skin and he’s never this loud, but Will has no control over the sounds pouring from his mouth. He’s so fucking close he can taste it, and he both wants desperately to come and to keep going forever.

And then he straightens up and brushes the hair out of Hannibal’s face, sees that beautiful, plush, sleep-slackened mouth and the sweeping shadow under his closed eyelids, and that’s it. Will can feel each pulse of his cock as it jerks in Hannibal’s ass. Hears the almost inhuman groan he makes as he pulls Hannibal back on his dick and his hips snap forward in one last, punishing thrust and he buries himself deep.

He lets his full weight collapse against Hannibal, ear pressed to skin to listen to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart in counterpoint to Will’s own racing one. Will is overheated and damp with sweat, but Hannibal’s skin is cool to the touch. It makes Will feel absurdly fond of the man, and he draws up the sheets around them, lets himself doze as his breathing slowly returns to normal.

There’s a pleasant buzzing under his skin, an almost unbelievable good cheer. The smile that tugs at his lips stretches his scar, so wide and unrestrained. He can’t stop mouthing kisses along the raised lines of Hannibal’s brand, up the knobs of his spine, as his fingers trace down the arch of his ribs.

Though for all that lovely satisfaction, and the fact that Will’s gone soft, even held within Hannibal’s body, he wants to go again. There’s no where near enough time--he lifts his head enough to glance at the bedside clock and confirm there’s maybe a half an hour before the drugs wear off--but he’s not failing to get hard out of lack of interest or stimulation.

Carefully, Will withdraws from Hannibal’s body, delighting in the slick, wet sound made as they part. With far less haste than before, Will moves him again, rolling him from his front onto his back. It’s unpredictable, the way Hannibal’s limbs seem to have a mind of their own, splaying around him awkwardly and making things more difficult.

With a little wrestling, he manages to get Hannibal where he wants him and lays down alongside, tucked in the curve of his arm. Though his body is sated and heavy with spent pleasure, Will isn’t ready for this to end. He’s a starving man at a banquet, and he wants to try everything. Even the promise of _more_ and _later_ isn’t enough.

Keeping in mind what Hannibal said about the return of sensation, and with an eye on the clock, Will returns his attention to Hannibal’s body. He flicks his thumb lazily back and forth over Hannibal’s far nipple and licks and bites at the other. It’s a mindlessly enjoyable task, one he can lose himself in, much like sucking Hannibal’s cock, and before long he can feel the subtle changes in Hannibal’s body.

It’s nearly imperceptible at first, the tightening of the areolae under Will’s touch, the slightest catch in Hannibal’s breathing. Curious and heartened, Will draws his hand down Hannibal’s abdomen. There is the faintest movement against his palm, but when his fingers find Hannibal’s cock, it’s already half-hard, and growing harder by the second.

Will lets out a huff of laughter and sinks down between Hannibal’s legs, nudging them apart as he goes. Soon Hannibal will regain consciousness but not mobility, and frankly that’s almost as much of a turn on for Will as the rest of it. He goes down on Hannibal, groaning in relief at the satiny hardness that swells at the first touch of his mouth and he wonders if his body is making up for what it could not respond to, before, and makes a mental note to ask Hannibal, in detail, what exactly his body was experiencing during this whole experiment.

Before long, Hannibal’s breathing is shallow and harsh, and his legs tremble, stretched out flat on the sheets. Out of habit, Will holds him down by his hips, but there is no actual effort on Hannibal’s part to thrust upward. Will traces his nails gently over Hannibal’s balls. A faint, tremulous moan spills forth from Hannibal’s mouth, and when Will glances up, Hannibal’s eyes are moving beneath his lids, as though he’s about to wake.

Will sits up and grabs the lube, spilling it over Hannibal’s stomach in his haste. He scoops it up and shoves three fingers between his own thigh, gasping through the shocky, electric pain of it. It’s easier, though, when he swings a leg over Hannibal’s hip and straddles him. His other hand works the lube over Hannibal’s cock and holds him in place as Will sits back, removing his fingers just as Hannibal’s cock spears him open.

That drives another sound from Hannibal, hungry and deep. His fingers twitch against the sheets and one hand raises maybe an inch or two before falling limply to the bed again. Will rocks side to side, easing the burn with slow, smooth motions of his hips, until he’s settled. Then he leans forward, catching Hannibal’s hands in his and lacing their fingers together before he starts to move.

Within minutes he’s hard again, and he wonders idly how long Hannibal can make this last, and how many times he could get off in a night, if he tried. Three or four times in a day, sure every now and then, especially when Hannibal is in a particular mood--he can be very convincing with his hands and mouth. But Will usually needs more downtime, especially after the second time.

This is simply fascinating, though, watching Hannibal come back to himself as Will rides him, slow and unhurried. He can see it first in the way the muscles of Hannibal’s face lose that strange plasticity, in the pursing of his lips and the tautness of the skin beneath his eyes. Then in the flex of Hannibal’s fingers, tightening around his own, and the flare of his nostrils as he smells, just as Will had intended. He’s halfway to orgasm before he ever opens his eyes, blinking up at Will blearily.

“Will?” he asks, voice hoarse from sleep and lust and confusion. His fingers tighten again and Will squeezes back, leans over to press chaste kisses to his lips.

“Hey,” Will says back, and he means it to come out tender, but it dies on a whiny, breathy moan as he rocks back on Hannibal’s cock.

Hannibal’s eyes dart around the room, disoriented, taking in the dark shadows and dying orange light. Then back to Will’s face, searching. Will kisses him again, deeper, keeping his eyes open this time.

“I’m here,” Will murmurs, and brings their joined hands to his own skin, letting Hannibal’s knuckles skim down his chest and over the raised smile curving along his stomach. If he rests their hands just right, his scar will brush against them with each thrust, pushing down into Hannibal’s own, smaller scar.

Hannibal’s breath leaves him in a rush and he arches up for another kiss, which Will gladly gives, licking the taste of himself from Hannibal’s lips. And when Will sits back, he can see in Hannibal’s eyes that he’s taking a lot on faith here. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, or even where they are.

Will thought he’d understood before, how vulnerable Hannibal was making himself, but it isn’t just the physical, it’s the mental and emotional as well. Hannibal knew quite well the extent of disorientation he’d experience upon waking, and he proceeded anyway. There’s that trust Hannibal spoke of, in thought and practice. It makes Will weak in the knees, and Hannibal deserves to be rewarded for it.

Will holds tight to Hannibal with one hand and disentangles the other to cup his cheek. “It’s 11:53 at night. We’re home,” Will says in reassurance. “In our cottage outside Sarlat-la-Canéda. You’re Hannibal Lecter, and I love you.”

The impact of the words is much the same as it was the first time Will spoke them: honest, grateful surprise and the welling of affection in his eyes. Will brings Hannibal’s hand to his hip, presses his fingers into a tight grip there. His strength is returning with every passing minute and he’s able to hold on, even use the leverage to rock upwards.

Hannibal’s attention is on him entirely. Will can feel the weight of his gaze drinking in the sight of him. It’s only a couple of minutes before he can see the awareness returning, Hannibal’s eyes going sharp and mouth curving in a familiar, filthy grin. “Did you come on my face, Will?” he asks, teeth scraping over the flakes dried on his bottom lip.

Will nods, leaning closer. He likes the change in angle--shallower, but opening him wider. “I guess I finally see the appeal,” he says. “Though I think I prefer coming in your mouth. Or your ass.” 

Hannibal responds with a jarring thrust, but it seems to take all his energy and he falls back to the bed, breathing harshly. “Oh, babe,” Will teases. “Let me just take care of you.” Hannibal gives him an indulgent smirk and lets his hands fall back against the bed, spread open in acquiescence.

Will takes the invitation and braces his hands on Hannibal’s chest and sets a fast, desperate pace. Makes a show of himself, arching his back and dropping his head. Bites his lips swollen and red, and looks at Hannibal through the fall of curls in his face. He knows what it does to Hannibal, when Will plays coy.

Hannibal’s hands grab at the sheets, his eyes tracking every moment, taking it all in. Will draws a shy hand down his own chest to his cock. He lets out a shuddering gasp that he doesn’t have to fake. He’s sensitive, each stroke making him squirm on Hannibal’s cock with very little finesse. “Fuck, Hannibal,” he whines. “You feel so good. You _felt_...”

“Tell me,” Hannibal says.

“It was--I don’t know the last time I got it up three times in under three hours,” he says, with a chuckle. “Moving you however I wanted, and you were just _laying_ there, taking it, not a sound or a twitch out of you, like you were made just for me, just for my pleasure.”

“Do you feel it?” he asks, and reaches behind himself, twisting and arching to get between Hannibal’s legs, feeling the sticky damp of his upper thighs, Will’s release leaking from him. “Are you sore?”

“Yes,” Hannibal says. The _s_ is drawn out on a sibilant hiss, and his eyes spark in amusement and arousal. “I believe I’ll be feeling it for a few days, at least.”

“Mmm,” Will hums, and kisses him, slow and luxuriant. “Good.” He lets out another high-pitched sigh and adds, “I hope you’re close.” Each roll of his hips back on Hannibal’s cock hits just the right place and his cock is rigid almost to the point of pain, so ready to go off. “Because I’m gonna come, and then I’m going to be fucking useless.”

That just earns him an amused quirk of Hannibal’s brow. And normally Hannibal would just roll them over and fuck Will into the mattress, but it’s clear from the easy slope of his shoulders and splay of his limbs that he still isn’t up to full strength. Hannibal has an enviable stamina, but even he is vulnerable when Will plays to his kinks.

Will redoubles his efforts, rocking hard and fast. He scrapes his fingers hard down Hannibal’s chest, leaving red streaks in his wake, and flicks at his nipples. “ _Please,_ Hannibal,” he whispers, puts the stress on the syllables of Hannibal’s name, knows what it does to the man to hear Will say it, especially in bed, desperate and needy.

“I need it. It was so good, Hannibal, fucking you like that, but I wanted your cock hard. In my mouth, in my ass.” He pushes back roughly, letting the force of Hannibal’s cock drive a ragged sound from his throat. “I need you to come in me, _please_.”

Hannibal does grab him, then, one hand bruising the soft skin of Will’s thigh, the other knocking aside Will’s hand and wrapping around his cock. He fingers along the veins and tightens his grip, then starts jerking in time with Will’s rocking motions.

His feet slip on the sheets, trying to bend his knees. The shifting of his weight drives him deeper inside Will and it’s so good, the punishing stroke of Hannibal’s hand on him. Hannibal doesn’t care he’s too sensitive, he’ll rip Will’s orgasm from him--has done on more than one occasion. Hannibal’s lips are pulled back from his teeth in a sneer, tongue pressing against his upper lip, and Will knows that look of intense concentration, that Hannibal’s holding on by a thread. Waiting for him.

That precipice right before his orgasm hits him seems the last forever, a choking, breathless, heavy sensation in his chest. His balls draw up tight and he thrusts into Hannibal’s fist over and over, each time thinking _this is it_ , so when it does hit him, he’s taken entirely by surprise. His whole body quakes with the force of it, collapsing in on himself.

He can’t even make a sound. All the air’s been driven from him by the shocking, blinding pleasure of it as it swells over him. Each contraction of his balls, pulsing hot through his cock is a distinct, searing, blissful relief. It seems impossible, as intense as both of his last two orgasms have been, that this would should be as well, but Hannibal _does_ things to him. Only a single ribbon of come dribbles over Hannibal’s fist and down his wrist, thin and watery, his body incapable of more.

Hannibal brings his hand to his mouth and sucks the come from his skin. Will delights in the obscenity of it. He leans in, letting his weight settle over Hannibal’s chest and focuses on the way his body clenches around Hannibal’s cock, milking him. He’s only vaguely aware of the sound Hannibal makes as he follows over the edge, the way it rumbles between them.

True to his word, Will is useless, boneless and exhausted, and unable to wipe the goofy smile from his face. For several long minutes Hannibal allows him to recover. His hand is heavy on Will’s back, unmoving.

As much as Will would like nothing more than to roll over and sleep, Hannibal is still feeling the influences of the drugs. Drugs he took for Will, and the least he can do is see to Hannibal’s comfort now. He pushes himself up on weak arms and smiles down at Hannibal, whose eyes blink open at the attention.

“I really do love you,” Will says, which isn’t what he planned on saying, but it’s what comes out. He sits upright and climbs gingerly from Hannibal’s lap.

It takes some real effort to make his legs carry him down the stairs to the bathroom, where he has to let to let the water run for a few minutes before it gets hot enough. He returns to the room with the washcloth and is tender in his ministrations, wiping over Hannibal’s face, his flaccid penis, between his asscheeks. 

Hannibal watches him affectionately all the while and reaches out to touch Will’s cheek when he leans in for a kiss. “Do you need anything?” Will asks, and Hannibal shakes his head.

“Come to bed,” Hannibal says. He manages to shift his weight enough to roll onto his side as Will climbs in and pulls the covers up over them both.

There’s a faint chill to the air, driven away by Hannibal’s body warmth as Will wiggles close. Hannibal hooks an arm over his shoulders, pulling him in. Will rests his face in the hollow of Hannibal’s throat, sighs contentedly, and settles in, letting his muscles go loose. “That was...really fucking awesome,” he mutters.

“I’m glad,” Hannibal says. His voice has that meditative quality it sometimes gets when he’s working. “You’ve developed your own concept of morality about so many things, but you cling to shame when you need not. I hope you take this lesson to heart.”

Will hums sleepily. He can’t imagine he won’t still blush and hide his eyes the next time Hannibal suggests it, but they both know he’ll jump at the chance. As he falls into a deep, heavy slumber, his mind wanders to all the other secret kinks of his for Hannibal to unbury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank tumblr for this irredeemably dirty piece of filth :D Thanks to my followers for picking this kink first, [howishughdancyevenpossible](http://howishughdancyevenpossible.tumblr.com/) for making it SO MUCH WORSE, and [granpappy-winchester](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/), [lovecrimevariations](http://lovecrimevariations.tumblr.com/), and [rav3nsta9](http://rav3nsta9.tumblr.com/) for their feedback along the way!


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